Broken
by NovemberRiddle
Summary: Ginny reflects on all the times she had dreamed of Tom Riddle. Really short one-shot.


**Broken**

Ginny's POV

I was eleven when our paths crossed for the first time, just a naive little girl with impossible dreams of magnificent romance as my life-story and knights in shining armors waiting to always save me from all distress. He was a charming demon hidden behind the pages of a stray black lather book that presented himself as the leader of my endless honorable army. The imprinted initials were just enough to make me feel curious, but too little for it to be an enchanting mystery that I would die to solve.

It was a cliche story of an impressionable heroine meeting a big bad wolf in every way but for its ending. Much like all the other stories, heroine fell and then struggled to raise again. Godric, how easy it was for me to fall.

Back then, when I first came into possession of his diary, he was nothing more than an endless source of comforting words and elegantly written black lines in an old book. It was just a bunch of curly letters that I would secretly try to mimic, never really achieving the neatness of his writing no matter how hard I tried. Then, slowly, as if it sneaked up on me, he became a close friend, a precious confidant, but even then my dreams were still free of his influence. He was without face or shape, he had no voice in my mind, no real power over me.

Not yet.

I don't remember exactly when I started dreaming of the invisible, formless boy, but I do remember how different he always looked. The kindness in his eyes and pleasant smiles were the only constants in my dreams of him; everything else was ever-changing. His eyes would be blue one night, than black the next. His hair would be wavy and black, than long and brown. But he was always handsome, and more importantly, he was always there, patiently waiting for me, there to hear me out.

How perfect he was, how nice to me. Of course I was willing to believe his every word, I was in love with him without even realizing it. Even when in fear and desperation I threw away his diary, I couldn't get rid of him. He kept visiting my dreams as he would for years to come. How naive I was to think I can escape him. How secretly grateful that Harry and Ron had found the diary, that I had a reason to take him back.

I can't really recall how I made my way into that dreadful room under the castle. The way to the basilisks nest is too muddy for me to clearly recall. I do remember the moment, just before the darkness took over, of seeing him for the first time. That one is crystal clear. He was beautiful, an angel, pale face clashing with his jet-black hair and impossibly dark but strangely shallow eyes. Contrary to my dreams, his eyes were filled with cruelty not kindness, his full lips twisted in an amused smirk as he watched me fall. I heard him say how he would enjoy watching me slowly drift away. I can easily recall the pain and fear sized my hearth as I lost consciousness.

I also remember the terror I felt snapping out of trance only to find myself in a huge, vaguely familiar chamber. The first thing I noticed was that he was gone. Relief flooded my exhausted body with the realization that I was indeed still alive; the happiness as my eyes landed on Harry was real. He had been the one who saved me. My hero, the true white knight of my imagined future. At that moment, I was unaware of just how much I depended on Tom Riddle, how much influence he had over me; unable to see what losing my dear confidant meant.

At first I only had nightmares filled with snakes and cold laughter, terrors of dying in that cold, wet chamber. At first I was happy he was gone, but my happiness was short lived. Loneliness in a tricky thing and I soon started missing him, more so each passing day. I looked for him in my dreams, hoping to find him again, running after his shadow, calling his name, begging him to come back. I needed him. I was slipping further and further into the madness, but I couldn't see it. No-one could.

I started wishing Harry had been killed in the chamber so Tom would have survived. I wished I had died so he could have lived on. I was desperate for a friend who could understand me like he did, for someone I can could tell all my secrets to, all my problems, everything. However, above all else, I wanted someone to whom I can talk about him, the handsome devil who I believed to be an angel. But there was no-one I could confide to. Those endless black eyes hunted me... I missed him, the beautiful monster I was ready to die for.

I chased after him for so long, desperately trying to find him in that magnificent and revolting chamber his ancestor had built. He was never there. At least not until the night of Voldemort's rebirth. That night for the first time, Tom Riddle was waiting for me. Lonely and proud presence in that grand room, standing there in front of the Salazar Slytherin's statue deep in thought, looking grandiose and important despite his comparatively miniature size in that huge room.

Understandably, relief was the first emotion that rushed through me. Fear sized me next, as I watched him stand there, beautiful and motionless. Fear and anticipation, two most prominent feelings in me were mixing with others I could never name. He had been waiting for me and I could see his eyes flash a bloody-red color in pleasure once he notice the horror written all over my face. My hearth fluttered in pleasure and terror at the sight.

'Ginerva' he greeted in that soft voice I had heard only once before but vividly remember.

I just stared.

'No reason to be afraid' he teased, 'we are old friends. Friends do not fear each other, do they?'

I stayed silent, simply too overwhelmed to talk. Warnings were flashing in some depth of my mind, too far away to actually make me react in any way.

'How rude. Why chase me? Why call after me if you are only going to stand there like a stupid little lamb?' he asked, 'Or did you believe I was really dead, my darling? There is no harm in missing a ghostly memory, is there? Silly girl, you should know better that. I, Lord Voldemort -the greatest wizard of them all- can't be killed. My dear, I am immortal and I will stay here, forever.'

This wasn't my Tom, this wasn't the boy I had been looking for. I wanted him gone with just as much desperation and need as I had once wanted him back. Of course, he stayed. He stared hunting my dreams. Every other night I would return to the Chamber of Secrets with its hideous snakes watching me, their eyes shining despite the darkness. My steps would ring through the empty space and as if I was on some invisible rope his presence would always drag me closer. He was a puppeteer and he was holding my strings. He would mock me, his dark eyes laughing as I tried to defend myself. Slowly but surely, he was becoming more real, I could no longer claim that him to be just a fraction of my imagination, fraction of my twisted mind. Somehow he was simply there, a part of me and still so undeniably himself. It was maddening.

Than the war started and he disappeared once again, leaving me to suffer alone as night after night terrors of death, blood and torture invaded my mind. He was still somewhere in there, silently watching as I screamed in my dreams, enjoying my pain. I just never saw him. I am still not sure weather I am grateful or bitter that he never showed himself. Probably a bit of both. I cursed him in my waking moments all the more for the added confusion I had to face.

When Voldemort fell in the Great Hall I like everyone else celebrated the end of the war and cried for the people I've lost. My brother was dead. Many of my friends were dead as well. Tom Riddle however wasn't.

He choose that night to come back. He ignored my shuttered repetition that he is really, truly dead, that he can't be there (that _I_ can't be there) as he casually walked around the Chamber as he had done many, many times before, eyes on the grotesque statues an almost loving shine to them as he observed the monument of discrimination and horror left behind as his heritage. I closed my eyes begging for him to disappear; but when I opened them he was still there, watching me with interest, like he would watch a rat in his sick experiment.

'You are dead,' I repeated in a whisper, desperately for a hundredth time that night.

'I am immortal' he responded calmly, reminding me of what he thought was a simple fact.

'No. Harry killed you.'

'Than why am I still here?'

'You are just a part of my imagination, you will disappear in time.'

'Do you really believe that?' he asked curiously, without a hint of worry.

'Yes!' I yelled trying to convince both of us. My voice echoed, but it did nothing to dispel my fears.

He just smirked at me, easily dismissing the subject, 'If you say so.'

And then he turned his back to me, casually walking away, just like that, as if I didn't matter, as if I didn't even exist. I stood there, still an eleven-year old girl watching him disappear, half pleading that he never comes back, half praying that he never leaves me again. All the while the decorative snakes laugh at my nativity, taunting the little lamb whose time of slaughter was coming closer. I woke up crying. He would never let me go. The realization hit me like a train. I was his entertainment, the main attraction of his twisted play. The worst thing was, I didn't know if I wanted him to disappear. He was a part of me.

Tom Riddle kept appearing over the years, taking whatever he wanted whenever he felt like it. He was slowly driving me into insanity, patiently waiting for a perfect moment to break me. I wouldn't allow him, I fought. I will not be his last victim, I will not let him hurt Harry like that. Yes, I fought for Harry more than I fought for myself, but I fought.

I can't recall when the last time I dreamed of him was, my dreams are rare now. He would appear on some occasions, ruining my special moments. He was there on my wedding night, he was there when I gave birth to my children, he was there to take me after I made love with Harry every time, he would taunt me, tell me how he had been feeling lonely lately, how I should come to the Chamber more often. It was expected that he would be there even as I am about to die.

'I am leaving this world,' I happily inform him, already cheering for my upcoming freedom. I am about to be free of him and his manipulations, of hurt and pain and secrets and betrayal. Free of everything. I am about to win! Smile graces my face for the first time since his reappearance.

'So?' he asks bored.

'You'll die with me.'

'We shall see,' he says, obviously unconcerned. I have a feeling that Tom no longer cares for this game of his, his voice is too monotonous and slow.

'You didn't win,' I add vengefully, 'You couldn't brake me. The little lamb you always laughed at prevailed.'

At that he finally looks at me, a lazy grin spreads across his beautiful, beautiful face, 'Ginerva, please. I broke you a long time ago, in many different ways. I teared apart your innocence. I destroyed both your reality and your illusions years back. The only reason I lingered here for this long was too keep enjoying my victory. Sometimes, a broken toy is more entertaining than a new one. But I believe it is time for me to leave. I am afraid you shell be enjoying the nothingness of death alone,' he adds mockingly.

As Tom turns to walk away I can't help but scream, 'I am not broken!'

His laughter is cold, piercing right trough my soul, 'Many consider insanity to be a broken mind, Ginerva. Farewell.'

Tom waves lazily at me, not even bothering to face me one last time. His disappearance is followed by my fall as I crash onto the wet floor, no longer capable of refusing to admit defeat as tears fall from my eyes.

Yes, I am insane, unstable in many ways, desperately in need of a cold killer to keep me company. I've been that way for so long that I haven't even noticed how twisted that was.

I am indeed broken.


End file.
